


Sparks

by loOkMA_iTyPeLiKeDiS



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Self-Defence Training, Sparring, Steamy moment, Unintentional Seduction, Unresolved Sexual Tension, pidge has the crushies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loOkMA_iTyPeLiKeDiS/pseuds/loOkMA_iTyPeLiKeDiS
Summary: Pidge really wouldn’t mind hot and sweaty encounters with Keith. If it was thefunway and not the being-woken-up-at-the-ass-crack-of-dawn-for-stupid-training way.
Relationships: Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith/Pidge (Voltron), Keith/Pidge | Katie Holt
Comments: 21
Kudos: 135





	Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> AU future fic set after s4

Pidge was usually always careful on missions.

In a war against alien creatures about five times her size, she knew that if she didn’t exercise caution to avoid getting roped into a dangerous battle, she would likely get hurt. As much as she hated to admit it, as good as she was at holding her own if need be, she was small, she was easily flung around, and her bayard’s capacity for damaging the enemy was not a lethal as her fellow paladins. And although she had some basic training and fighting skills from early on in their paladin work, the rest of them had quickly learned that her strengths lied primarily in tech and hacking.

Her mind, strategizing, and thinking on the spot were a force to be reckoned with.

Her physical strength in combat? …Not so much.

Thus, they’d all developed a system where Pidge would spend most of her time hacking doors and electrical components, rewiring Galran sentries, and more, while the rest of them handled physical obstacles and protected her while she did her work.

It was a system that _worked_ … except for the occasional time when an enemy escaped the barricade and got to her.

And that particular time had been a fluke.

Usually, Pidge could keep track of where her enemies were while she did her hacking and point them out to her friends, or if she spotted one too close to her while the rest of the guys were occupied, she’d just sling her bayard and electrocute them. It was usually enough to deter the enemy.

But this time, she hadn’t caught Haggar’s druid that made itself invisible and snuck undetected past Keith and Hunk. By the time she realised the space in front of her was warped, it was too late.

She barely had time to react before hands launched themselves around her neck and squeezed, nearly crushing her windpipe as she was knocked back on her ass, her head hitting the asphalt so hard her helmet flew off. A heavy body straddled her, knees pressing on both shoulders to restrict her movement. Pidge gasped and choked, struggling to get out of its grasp as the maskless druid materialised, its sinister yellow eyes gleaming wildly while it cackled with glee.

 _“Die, Paladin!”_ it hissed, howling with laughter.

Spots emerged in her gaze as the edges of her vision started to blur, as her vision swirled, and with each passing second, Pidge’s lungs squeezed tighter in her chest. She rasped for air, trying to call out for someone, but the druid tightened its grip, the clawed fingers digging painfully into her skin. She slowly curled her trembling hand, willing herself to stay conscious as she materialised her bayard in her hand.

“ _Pidge_!”

The druid suddenly jerked, and Pidge blearily watched Keith’s Marmora sword slice straight through it and split it in half from the waist, grey blood splattering on her face and the floor. The druid made a gurgled noise, grip slackening as its gaze dimmed and its upper body slumped over her. Its remains were kicked off her, and Keith scooped her up, cradling her and inspecting her in a panic.

“Pidge, are you okay?” He oh so gently brushed the marks on her neck with his thumb as she rasped for much needed breath. When her eyes flitted open, Keith moved his hand to her face, his gaze gleaming with concern as he cupped her cheek. “Talk to me.”

“Stole my shot. Two seconds and…” She chuckled hoarsely through a shuddering breath and gave Keith a weak smile. “I would have electrocuted… the fucker…”

Despite the stern scowl on his face, she picked up on the amused exasperation in his eyes. Keith snorted, though she relished the hints of a proud smirk on his lips as he sat back on his haunches and helped her sit up as she coughed and rubbed her throat.

“There she is.”

They’d finished the mission—well, Lance and Hunk mostly had—while Keith kept a close eye on her, and once they’d gotten back to the castle, the first thing on the menu had been to stick Pidge in a cryopod for healing. And once she’d gotten _that_ out of the way, had to deal with Shiro’s concerned SpaceDad fussing and Hunk making her tons of favourite dishes to recover and Lance doing a theatrical reenactment of the crazy fight to Allura and Coran.

(It was stupid, but Keith’s flushed face and objections when Lance overdramatised his panicked reaction were cute).

Honestly, they were all making a much bigger deal about it than it was, especially considering she was fully capable of walking on her own well before they’d returned. But she supposed it was as good a time as any to take a second look at and revise their original strategies.

And most of the scrutiny was directed towards her defence training and combat skills.

She was the least trained one of them all—skipped some sessions back in the day too—but she’d been hoping she’d get overlooked often enough that it wouldn’t matter.

It mattered.

So it was decided she would be training with Keith to get her skills up to par so they could avoid another situation like the one with the druid. And it wasn’t like she could even oppose the order because Keith had brought the whole incident up to Shiro and unfortunately, Shiro had agreed that it would be best if they worked on her skills to help her develop ways of getting out of difficult situations since she didn’t have brute force on her side.

It annoyed her at first, but then she figured it wouldn’t be so bad, probably just a couple quintants or two. She’d even gotten a little excited about the prospect of training with Keith. He was a pretty busy guy, sometimes gone for long periods of time with the Blades, so she was looking forward to spending some one-on-one training time with him. Keith was always fun to talk to just because he seemed to _get_ her, they clicked since they had similar personalities, and no conversations with anyone else could top their snark sessions.

(Also, she was harbouring a secret crush on him, so she definitely wasn’t complaining about getting a good chunk of time where she could stare at him to her heart’s content and not be questioned).

The training hadn’t been too bad at first. He’d started her out with thirty doboshes of cardio, followed by some endurance and flexibility exercises, some arm and leg work in sets, and then ab work. That had taken a little more than one varga, and she’d assumed that would be it, but then he’d relocated them to the sparring gym and started her on a bunch of drills on the punching bag and kicking post. By the third quintant of doing the same tedious drills and practices over and over and _over_ again for a good few varga, Pidge had had enough.

Five quintants in now, she was close to blowing.

And worst of all, Keith had yet to go shirtless! What the hell was the point of putting all this effort into training if she couldn’t even enjoy the chance to take sneak peeks at the contours of his back muscles or the ridges of his abdomen?

She knew Keith had a point about her learning how to use her small size as a strength against much larger opponents—a point she knew he was speaking from personal experience in the past—but that didn’t change the fact that he was making her miserable. 

“Pidge,” Keith drawled. “Get up.”

“Five more minutes, _Mom_ …” Pidge mumbled in her pillow, burrowing her face deeper in it and ignoring the dead-eyed glare Keith was definitely giving her beside her bed.

He sighed in exasperation and she could just imagine him folding his arms in front of his chest, finger tapping on his bicep the way it did with his burgeoning irritation. She snuggled further into her cocoon, slipping her hands under the pillow and hoping that if she ignored him long enough, he’d grow tired of the back and forth and leave her be.

She was wrong.

Her covers were yanked off her body without remorse, and Pidge yelped, almost shooting awake when the chill of the AC bathed her skin in cold. Keith was standing there in sweatpants and a black tee, fully ready for the next day of training and completely unrepentant.

“I’ll give you five doboshes to clean up,” he repeated, his expression impassive as she sat up, shivering in her pyjamas and glowering at him. “We need to get a move on if we want to get through all of today’s exercises.”

She stumbled out of bed, her limbs still fighting her every step of the way from how sore they were. “You mean the _same_ damn exercises we’ve been doing for pretty much the past movement?”

“Patience yields focus.”

“Patience yields a desire to kick your ass…” she muttered, grabbing a towel from the floor and scooping up a tank top and shorts.

“Five doboshes,” was all he said with a snicker as he headed out her room.

Pidge dragged her feet cleaning up, her enthusiasm for the training long gone. And when she arrived in their training room and gym, as expected, Keith set her on the usual warm-up. Cardio, some quick drills, ab work, and then it was back to throwing lifeless punches at the punching dummy, who by this point, she had _not-so-affectionately_ dubbed “Keith”.

She worked on a set of jabs and crosses while Keith watched, occasionally correcting an error or nodding when she did something right. He’d been working on a complicated set of moves and kata with his Marmora sword, but clearly he was on a break, because he’d moved over to observing her. The past couple quintants he’d done the same: observing briefly from a distance and every once in a while correcting a mistake himself. Straightening out her arm. Readjusting her stance by tapping her leg. Making her straighten out her posture by poking the middle of her back.

It was always unnerving how he slowly circled around her like some kind of vulture, scrutinising every one of her strikes. She couldn’t always tell what he was looking at either, but it made her somewhat self-conscious, especially since she could feel always his eyes roaming over her and lingering. He was just observing her for training, she knew that, but it was kind of flustering her. And the more flustered she grew, the worse her reps got, and the worse her reps got, the more Keith intervened which flustered her more.

“Keep your thumb tucked in tight over your fingers when you punch. More force in your fist that way, and it’ll keep it from possibly snagging on something.” She readjusted with a sigh and threw another one, watching the slight indentation of her fist dissipate on the dummy’s chest. “Square your hips as you punch.”

“What?”

“Square your hips.”

She looked down at herself. “What do you mean?”

Keith walked over to her, and she mostly expected a demonstration, except he walked right up behind her and grasped her hips. It took everything in her power not to jump when he put pressure and readjusted them himself so she was centred on the bag. Pidge inhaled sharply, her neck flushing because all of a sudden, he was way too close, and she could feel his chest brushing up against her back.

“Like this,” he murmured, his soft tufts of breath cascading along her neck as he gripped her hips a little tighter and demonstrated the rotation again. “Generates more power and keeps your centre of balance squared for a counterattack.”

Goosebumps erupted on her skin.

“Pidge? Did you get that?”

“Oh.” Pidge cleared her throat when her voice sounded a little breathy. “Umm, right. Rotate.”

“Your face is pretty red,” he commented as he pulled away from her, fingers trailing for a moment. “You should take a water break.”

She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see the slightest hint of a smirk on Keith’s face as he went back to where he’d been running drills with his sword. Honestly, it was hard to tell if he was messing with her or something, but she _was_ parched. She moved to her stuff and greedily sucked on a water pouch as she mopped at the sweat dripping from her bangs and the end of her ponytail.

Pidge let her eyes wander back over to Keith as he started his complex reps of his sword drills again, intense concentration and focus in his eyes as he panted softly through each motion. It would have been nice to see him work out without a shirt, but she did enjoy watching the muscles of his arms flex. And the tension in his shoulders under his sleeve. And the veins in his forearms through each strike. There was always certain intensity with everything he did—a restrained and controlled power behind his movements—and something that she couldn’t lie was a prominent feature of the dirty daydreams of him she entertained from time to time.

Keith’s eyes drifted over to her at the completion of a couple of his swings, and she swallowed hard and quickly looked away, fighting a blush as she sucked down the rest of her water.

“If you’re done hydrating, work on your reps, Pidge,” Keith reminded her. “If there’s no improvement today, I’ll have to report to Shiro again that you need more training, so focus.”

And just like that the illusion was shattered, and she was reminded yet again how much she hated Keith right now for this crap.

She saw his point that she needed proper training, but it didn’t make it any less annoying that instead of getting to sleep in and relax, she was up hella early, her energy reserves sub-zero and being barked orders at with no remorse for the most boring workout she ever had the misfortune of experiencing.

“You focus, you butthead…” she grumbled under her breath after tossing the empty pouch and moving back over to Keith the Dummy.

Pidge slowly rolled her stiff neck with a slight whimper as she massaged the tight muscle. She stretched her hooked hands high above her head, kind of relishing the brief tufts of cold air that drifted under her tank when it rode up. She couldn’t help her soft moan as the sore joints in her back loosened and just so slightly popped as they readjusted.

When she opened her eyes, Keith’s gaze was lingering on her. She wrinkled her nose at him, arms dropping to her side with a confused frown on her face.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He turned away suspiciously fast. “Continue your reps on your drills.”

“I’m about to continue with the drills! Can I stretch my neck first?” Pidge growled as she threw another halfhearted punch at the bag. “You suck, Keith. Have you never heard the saying that snitches get stitches?”

“I’m aware,” he responded in total monotone, completely unaffected by any of her ire, though he had an eyebrow quirked in amusement. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and watched her punch the bag with no effort put into it. “I’m also aware that with your current combat skills, that’s definitely an empty threat. Loosen up your stance. You look like you’re trying to take a shit.”

It was unexpectedly funny considering how serious his expression was, and Pidge quickly forced herself from laughing by biting her tongue. She was supposed to be mad at him. She couldn’t be getting amused by his non-jokes. Especially since she could just feel the smug air he was exuding, as if proud of himself for his tyrannical approach to improving her combat.

She was so going to get back at him.

…

When a varga was left of her training that day, she started counting down the doboshes to freedom. Her last set was of alternating high and low roundhouse kicks at the head and solar plexus on the sparring mat without a visible target while holding her balance. At least that was _some_ change in the monotony of the exercises, but not by much since she kept having to repeat it anytime there was an issue.

And Keith was finding an issue with _everything_ from her core not being tightened, to her centre of balance being off, to how she was rotating her hips after setting for the kick, to the movement of her arms, to the positioning of her toes in the damn kick itself.

“Again,” Keith ordered, after she’d finished her set and was panting for breath with hands on her knees.

Pidge let out a low growl in annoyance. “This is the tenth repetition, Keith.”

“And you’ll keep doing repetitions until you get it right. Patience yields focus.”

When he walked away to pick up his sword, she threw her middle finger up in his direction.

“I know you’re flipping me off, Pidge.” Keith chuckled to himself, sheathing it in his holster as he turned to her. “And I don’t really care. You’ll thank me one day. Now do it again. Five high, five low. Hold your balance.”

She did it fast, beyond frustrated and trying to force herself to go to her happy place to get through the rest of this. She wasn’t at the training room inhaling that ever-lingering stench of the guys’ pig sweat; she was in her lab, viciously prying apart and analysing the mechanics of a sentry who looked like Keith.

“Slow it down some. We’ve got time and you’re not going to get proper technique if you rush through it,” he repeated from across the room. “Patience yields—”

“Keith!” Pidge barked, spinning around angrily and glaring at him. “ _Shut up_ already about the patience yields focus thing. I know it’s your damn mantra, but I _swear_ if you say that to me one more time I’m gonna drop kick you on the head!”

“Well, it’s true.” He folded his arms over his chest, partially affronted as he raised a brow. “If you stopped rushing these exercises, you wouldn’t have to redo them so many times.”

“How is doing the same stupid leg drills doing anything? How is punching a bag until my arms fall off doing anything either?!” Pidge gesticulated wildly in exasperation. “Doing reps over and over isn’t going to help me get better at fighting _actual_ Galra. This is _boring_.”

“It helps you develop proper technique to disarm an enemy.”

“Who gives a quiznaking _fuck_ about technique when a Galra is trying to slice me in half?!” she spluttered, getting more riled up from his unmoving blank stare. “It’s not like they’re just going to stand around while I kick at their heads, you know? If a Galra is trying to attack me, I’m getting the hell out of the way! So can we put a hold on this dumb crap? Galra hit back. A punching bag and _air_ doesn’t.”

They stared each other down for a moment, Pidge breathing hard and glowering at him while a thoughtful look appeared on Keith’s face. He was quiet for so long Pidge was about to fix a smug smirk on her lips because _‘hah! Take that, Keith’_ , but then he nodded, taking off his boots and tugging down his sweatpants in favour of the workout shorts he had on underneath. He left his stuff by the edge of the mat and trudged on, hardly a change to his expression despite her confused frown.

“You’re right,” he finally said, approaching her slowly as he stretched his arms in front of him.

“Wait. Really?”

She hadn’t expected him to agree with her considering this wasn’t the first raging outburst she’d had in the past few quintants.

“Yeah.” Keith rotated his shoulder a bit, head cocked to the side with a raised brow. “You need real-life experience fighting a better trained Galra.”

“I mean, I already tried to program our holographic system, but it’s still not the…”

The corner of his mouth lifted in mirth, and suddenly, she understood why he was stalking towards her on the sparring mat. Pidge turned to face him fully, incredulous brows high on her forehead.

“ _No_. I’m not about to break every bone in my body trying to fight you.”

“You said a Galran hits back. So I’m giving you real-life experience.”

“Keith—”

“Or we can just go back to the drills.” He was goading her, indigo eyes dancing with the challenge. An errant shiver trailed down her spine at the look on his face like she was his prey or something. “Your choice.”

“Fine.” Pidge exhaled slowly, her irritation mounting as she met him in the middle of the mat and jabbed his chest. “If I beat you though, no more of those stupid punching bag drills.”

“If you _could_ beat me, you wouldn’t need combat training to begin with,” Keith intoned.

“Sometimes I really hate you, you know?”

They stood at a small distance apart in their sparring stances and eyed each other, measuring the right time to attack as they stepped around each other. Keith didn’t have any notable openings as far as she could tell, and Pidge briefly wondered if she’d be able to one shot KO him by aiming for his junk.

“Best of five. This is just practice, so no reason to go all out. Let’s keep this _clean_ ,” Keith uttered, amusement dripping from his tone as if he knew exactly what had been on her mind. “Fight smart, Pidge. And just maybe you _might_ get one hit off me.”

That smug little…

She went at him, launching herself into her attack, aiming kicks and punches wherever she thought she spotted an opening. Keith evaded each one, exerting bare minimum effort to block and knock her leg or arm out of the way or sidestepping her or leaning back. She knew he was actively assessing her attacks, but he looked like he was barely taking her seriously and it grated.

“Vary the speed of your strikes. If you keep going the same pace, it’ll become predictable, your opponent will read your patterns, and that’s a quick way for them to figure out your openings.”

“Would you shut up? Just fight back already!”

She swung her heel a little wild when trying to wheel kick him, and that was exactly when he finally countered, grabbing hold of her leg and tugging just hard enough to carry her momentum around. She went flying in a small circle, barely able to catch her balance before she ended up rolling in a heap on the floor. Pidge clambered up to her feet, but Keith was already there, and she only barely managed to intercept his strike with both arms. She ducked out of his reach when he swung again, got clipped on the shoulder on the next strike, and missed when he dropped and swept his leg low under her feet in her haste to try to cover openings on her upper body.

Pidge tripped backwards and fell on her ass with a grunt. She panted for breath, rising up on her elbows with a wince and staring up at him, a little vexed he’d gotten the first point.

“If you’re going to evade and don’t have a counter,” Keith said, standing above her and holding out his hand for her to take, “evade out of range or you’ll leave yourself open to attack.”

Pidge grabbed it, letting him jerk her up to her feet with grit teeth. They set in position again, and this time, Keith didn’t wait for her to jump on the offensive. She was stuck on the defensive shielding some shots while others kept grazing her arm, her hip, her stomach. He was fluid and calculating, telegraphed none of his moves, and Pidge had to really concentrate to not miss where his strikes were coming from. She got the feeling that those brushes with his foot or fists could really do some damage if he wasn’t holding back.

They parried blows, and Pidge would block one only to nearly miss the second. She had to tuck and roll to get out of range because he moved like a viper on roids or something, but she was starting to see that her agility and size made her a difficult target to lock on to.

She was small, and she was scrappy.

Keith went for a headshot with a kick, missed, and she pinpointed exactly when his balance was off as he landed, as short a moment as it was. She jumped at the chance to take her shot and swung, fully expecting to make contact, except he blocked her, slamming his palm against her forearm and grabbing her wrist as he yanked her into his space. Pidge’s balance broke, and in one fluid motion, Keith spun her, bent her right arm behind her back, and pinned it in a hammerlock that instantly immobilised her.

Pidge hissed from the surprise of the sharp pang up her shoulder, a little thrown off by how fast he’d set the arm lock. He tugged her back against him to hold her still when she tried to struggle out of his hold. When she jerked forward, he pushed her arm up her back with just the lightest bit of pressure, and her knees buckled as she let out a small, pained gasp.

“I’m surprised you fell for that fake. Didn’t I tell you patience yields focus?” The smile in his voice was unmistakable.

“I’m gonna rip your head off,” she muttered between heaving breaths.

Pidge aimed to scratch at him behind her with her free arm, but he only tightened the lock and she stopped, half stooped over, wincing and breathing hard from the discomfort on her joint.

“You need to figure out how to escape holds like this from your opponent,” Keith murmured right into her ear, partially loomed over her, his chest plastered to her back, hips flush against her backside. She could feel his short pants of breath against her ear, and her cheeks flushed involuntarily, a chill running down her spine from his body heat. “You’re completely at my mercy right now.”

Pidge elbowed him. Or at least _attempted_ to, but he closed his free hand around it and shoved her forward as he let her go. She tripped forward and nearly toppled over before catching her balance, and Pidge rubbed at her right shoulder as she straightened up and scowled at him.

“You seem a little distracted.” Keith smirked, nonchalantly fixing up his gloves. “Not a good thing when fighting a Galra.”

She knew she was red in the face, and Keith’s calm amusement clearly pointed to the fact that he knew she was flustered as all hell.

He was right about the mild distraction, but to be fair, no Galra looked like Keith Kogane.

She couldn’t help but be attracted to the unassuming way he carried himself despite the way his eyes seemed to burn when he looked at her. It wasn’t even like he was doing it on purpose, but he had an unintentionally intense gaze that tended to get her all aflutter.

It pissed her off.

“Two-zero, Pidge. And you still haven’t gotten a hit off me.”

They reset at the middle and started a new bout of varying kicks and punches, trading blows and blocks. Keith was a little ruthless in the way he left her with no real choice but to keep blocking. It wasn’t hard to figure out her strengths lied in defence fighting against him. Keith was too quick and too agile—and too trained—to get caught off guard, and it was starting to seem like direct attacks wouldn’t work. She had to fight smarter, not harder, especially since her opponent was ten times better at combat than she was.

Begrudgingly, she realised she’d actually internalised his lessons and that bugged her.

But she noticed Keith, though supposedly ambidextrous, somewhat favoured his left, and she figured out it was his slower side. The next time he kicked with his left, Pidge sidestepped it right in his space, startling him a bit as he tried to double back. His stance was clearly off when he set his foot down. She called her bayard, making sure the cord was tangled around his legs, and used the diversion to copy his quick drop and sweep from earlier.

She expected Keith to fall since his legs were all tangled up. But she didn’t expect him to twist a hand in her tank top as she stood and take her down with him.

They toppled to the ground, Keith crashing onto his back with a grunt and Pidge landing on him in a painful heap. In the confusion of their tousling and Keith grabbing at her to try to restrain her, she managed to scramble up so her knees were on either side of him and quickly summoned her bayard at his neck.

“That’s my point.” She grinned triumphantly, breathing hard to get some air in her lungs. “Hands off.”

“This really how you want to play it, Pidge?” Keith asked, his hands sliding off her hips as she straddled his torso properly and pressed the tip of her bayard firmly against his neck. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his expression shifted, his gaze more heated as he stared up at her.

“You never said bayards were off the table. And anyway, in a fight against a Galra, I’m going to be resourceful and use every tool at my disposal,” she said haughtily, sitting back on his stomach as she dispersed her weapon and enjoying the cross look on his face. The round hadn’t gone quite the way she’d planned since she wasn’t supposed to go down too, but she got to her desired results. “So _hah_. That’s a point for me.”

He ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “Yeah, yeah. It was _one_ point. Don’t get a big head.”

“Don’t be a sore loser now that I got a hit off you,” she shot back, practically singsonging. “Where’d all that smug energy go?”

He didn’t really react save for a minute narrowing of his eyes that instantly screamed danger. She got to her feet and backed off him, still proudly smirking as she helped Keith get to his.

“Two-one,” Keith said, following her back to the middle.

They reset, this time circling each other slowly, both of them cautious now that Pidge had blown the restrictions up. It felt good to finally get one on him though, especially since she’d managed to knock him on his ass in the process. As they started the round, she figured if she tried a variation of the same move on him, she’d get him again.

(And she’d get to relish in his irritation from being knocked on his bum again).

Except Keith didn’t counter after she aimed a kick at his chest.

He planted himself and let her kick him just outside of his solar plexus, grunting as he took the hit and hooking his arm around her leg. Pidge’s eyes went wide when he crouched low, grabbed her other leg and took her down as he dropped to his knees. She flailed as she hit the mat hard, her breath forced from her lungs, but she hardly had time to recover because Keith was on her, pinning both wrists beside her head as he hovered over her. She couldn’t even move her legs; they were stuck on his hips and when she tried he moved his knees closer, bending her further in half so she couldn’t move.

They remained like that for several long ticks, their shallow, unsteady breathing filling the space between them as they held each other’s gaze.

“Never underestimate the power of the element of surprise,” Keith said quietly.

She knew they were just sparring, but all of a sudden she could hear her own pounding heartbeat roaring loud as hell in her ear and became acutely aware of every single point that they were making contact. The tightening grip he had on her wrists. His chest brushing hers with each uneven breath they took. His thighs pressed against her bum. Crotch practically—

“What the hell, Keith,” Pidge bit out.

“Should have paid more attention,” he said in a low voice around his own panting and her gaze flitted up to his in surprise. “If you were fighting a Galra soldier right now, they would kill you. This is why you don’t celebrate early.”

“What happened to not going all out?” Pidge chewed on her lower lip, put off by the way he regarded her with hooded eyes. “And you definitely cheated.”

A small smirk. “How so?”

“Grappling? Seriously?”

“You don’t know what kind of methods a Galran soldier might use to fight. They’ll be resourceful too. You need to be prepared for anything.”

“…You’re just salty because I got that point off you, you butthead.” Still. Didn’t change the fact that she was stuck under him, and Keith was clearly not planning to budge anytime soon. “Cheater.”

Keith looked pretty amused by her (probably correct!) accusation. “If you find yourself pinned, aim for any of the enemy’s sensitive spots if you can. Headbutting is an option to buy yourself time. Aim for the nose. If you can move your legs, groin kicks hurt everyone.”

“Gee, thanks for the tips…” Pidge drawled, trying to loosen up one of her wrists, but Keith had her pretty well held in place. He was a lot stronger than he looked, and she hated that she found it decidedly hot. “Would be more useful if I could _actually_ implement them. Move some so I can free my leg.”

“I’m not really in favour of one of your bony knees crushing my nuts, Pidge.” The mirth in his tone told her he was very much enjoying this.

She huffed out a sigh and raised a brow. “You know, you could just be nice and let me go.”

“Match isn’t over until you submit.”

Now he was just being a dick. As chill as Keith liked to act, Pidge knew he was just as competitive as Lance—if not more—and it was right at the forefront right now.

“And if I don’t?”

His eyes darkened, taunting, and when she nervously wet her lips, his gaze flickered down for a moment. Pidge’s pulse spiked, thundering in her ears as Keith lowered himself onto his elbows, his chest pinning hers to the floor, and shifted his legs closer, and suddenly there was no denying that the slightest hint of movement would have her pressed flush against his crotch. She was pretty sure she was blushing to her roots and her whole body felt hot.

He leaned down, lips grazing her ear in a smile and murmured:

“I’ll make you.”

Her gaze snapped to his when he lifted his head, but his little smirk was long gone, replaced by a scorching look that made heat flare between her legs.

The gym doors whirred open with a whoosh, Lance and Hunk’s laughter filtering in as they walked in, though it tapered away with an abruptness that made her eyes go wide. Keith’s neck went hot as he instantly got off her, crawling far back until there was full space between them. Pidge tried not to think too much about how much she’d liked having his body on hers as she climbed back to her feet. She dusted off her legs of imaginary dust, avoiding Lance and Hunk’s gazes, and _especially_ avoiding Keith’s as they moved to get their stuff.

Lance whistled low. “What the quiznak is going on in here~?”

“Training session gone wild?” Hunk looked a little too bright eyed, and Pidge dreaded it because she just knew this would be the start of him digging for gossip. “I was wondering why there was steam in the room.”

“What exactly were you two doing on this mat,” Lance teased, obnoxiously waggling his eyebrows as he gestured between the two of them, “because I gotta tell ya, we walked in on quite the scene.”

“Lance, shut up.” Keith ignored him as he scooped up his clothes and sword and made his way to leave the training room. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow, Pidge. Same time in the morning.”

“Pick what up exactly?” Lance snorted, and Pidge shot him a nasty look as she grabbed her used water pouches and towelette. She could not get out of there fast enough. “An obvious prelude to foreplay?”

Keith rolled his eyes and walked out as both Hunk and Lance guffawed at the comment. As Pidge hurried out too, she punched Lance in the stomach, thumb perfectly tucked in over her fingers, and took comfort in his wheeze of pain as he doubled over.

Hey, look at that.

Keith’s tip about her fist really did come in handy.

“Keith, wait up!” She jogged over to him halfway down the hall, trying for a smile as he stopped and turned to her. “You know you didn’t actually win, right?”

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t escape the hold.”

“Yeah… but I didn’t actually submit. Nor did you succeed in forcing me.” She picked at one of her fingernails, her lower lip caught between her teeth to hide her growing smile. “Technically, we ended at an inconclusive two-one. Guess we’ll have to continue the match tomorrow…”

Keith stepped in her space with a small smile, and Pidge’s breath caught when he leaned closer, eyes locked on hers. He reached past her cheek and took some fuzz from the mat out of her hair before holding it up in front of her.

“Guess so…”

His eyes were dancing when he turned around and walked on. Pidge released the breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. Bastard. He _knew_ what he was doing. She was really going to get him back now.

Maybe she’d show up in some spandex and a sport’s bra.

Rile him up for a change.

**Author's Note:**

> might continue this. kinda have an itchin to turn it into full raunch


End file.
